


Five Things Miranda Priestly and Andrea Sachs Don't Have in Common and One Thing They Do

by ZoS



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, Relationship Problems, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 08:12:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17443190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoS/pseuds/ZoS
Summary: Their lives don't fit together as well as they'd like, but they fit enough.





	Five Things Miranda Priestly and Andrea Sachs Don't Have in Common and One Thing They Do

**Author's Note:**

> I'm curently working on another, longer fic, but I just wanted to get this one out while it was still fresh in my mind.

**I.**  
Miranda despises mess. Absolutely despises it; at work, in her personal life, and in her home. Everything needs to be in meticulous order, everything needs to happen exactly according to her expectations, and if it doesn't, heads fly.

That is why her house is spotless; she employs the best of the best to clean it, she keeps her closet tidy and organized, and every furniture or piece of décor sits in perfect symmetry. Her bed is always made, her bathrooms are always clean, and the desk in her study holds only things she needs.

That's why each morning her second assistant places every magazine she's subscribed to exactly an inch and a half apart on her desk and brings her a center-of-the-sun hot coffee, and why every meeting, meal, and task in her day is scheduled right down to the minute.

That's why there is no room for mistakes in her life, not if she has a say in it. There can't be, when everything is so well-organized.

Andrea Sachs, on the other hand, is messy. Simply put. She doesn't have the same world view as Miranda, doesn't think it's the end of the world if hairs remain in her brush or if a dress isn't hung neatly in the closet.

Which wasn't that much of a problem when she had her own place and Miranda lived in the townhouse, which she could lure Andrea into instead of stepping foot inside that godforsaken shoebox apartment.

But now Andrea has moved in and, along with herself, brought her mess into Miranda's tidy house.

Now there are dirty socks lying beside the bed because Andrea couldn't bother to dump them in the hamper. So Miranda does.

Now there are half-empty mugs of coffee sitting on the kitchen table or the counter because Andrea forgot to put them in the dishwasher in her hurry to leave for work. So Miranda does.

Now her article notes are strewn all over the house, in places they shouldn't even be: the bathroom counter, the couch in the entertainment room, and between the bed sheets, and Miranda has to pick them all up and file them in a folder for Andrea to find easily, because Andrea couldn't care less.

She leaves toothpaste in the sink and hairs in the shower drain, her books are left open on chairs and coffee tables, there are hair ties everywhere Miranda looks. And worst of all, her behavior encourages Miranda's daughters to be just as messy, if they weren't encouraged enough before.

Miranda wants to rip her hair out.

  
**II.**  
Miranda has a lot of money, which she cherishes because, growing up, there was a decided lack of it. But she also splurges, because now she can.

She lives in a grandiose house and buys haute couture (even though every single designer goes out of their way to gift her their best creations) and employs two assistants to do her bidding for her. She can afford to.

She can afford to live in luxury and not worry about money ever running out. It gives her great joy.

Andrea was raised to be humble and a hard worker and _Midwestern_ , to the point of annoyance.

She lives simply and is uncomfortable basking in Miranda's affluence. To that extent, she frowns upon receiving expensive gifts (that Miranda is _happy_ to give because she _can_ ), sends the cook home early and proceeds to make awful concoctions of ingredients she can hardly pronounce, and insists on bathing Patricia in the tub (to the twins' delight and Miranda's revulsion), even though Miranda pays top dollar to send her to the best groomers, even though the abundance of shed hair clogs the drain, and even though Andrea, the kids, and the bathroom floor become wetter than Patricia. And smellier.

Andrea makes sure to tell Miranda repeatedly that she's with her because of who she is and not how much she's worth--Miranda _knows_ \--and assures her that they could live a happy life together just the four of them; sans the money. Happier life, actually.

Miranda balks at the idea.

She continues to buy Andrea jewelry and clothes (with her own money--no gifts from designers here) and Andrea continues to complain, though graciously and politely because she _is_ thankful.

She continues to bring Andrea with her to elitist and pretentious events, where Andrea has to pretend to feel comfortable around all the movers and shakers and around those who boss people around and then sit back and count their money. But when they get home, she always unzips her dress, tosses her heels, and sighs, "Finally."

And she continues and will continue to take Andrea on trips around the world and to the ritziest, most luxurious hotels, because as hard as she tries to convince Miranda that she doesn't need all that _stuff_ to be with her--Miranda _**knows**_ \--Andrea also does a poor job of concealing her excitement and contentment.

  
**III.**  
Miranda doesn't kid around when it comes to the food she consumes. One doesn't get to be a 50-year-old with her body and health by stuffing themselves full of cholesterol and sugar.

Her cook knows to buy only organic produce and the best, freshest meat. She makes delicious but healthy meals and desserts show up on the menu rarely and sparingly.

Miranda doesn't keep snacks and candy around the house, much to her daughters' (and Andrea's) chagrin, and she and many other parents are responsible for _Dalton_ 's new and healthy lunches.

She makes sure to take her supplements, include enough vegetables, proteins, and iron in her meals, and never eat so close to bedtime.

Andrea loves junk food. She could live off of fried chicken, tacos, and _McDonald's_ for a whole week and be entirely happy. Just a few years ago, she was a college student surviving on _Ramen Noodles_ for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a midnight snack. Miranda shudders when she thinks of all the sodium her girlfriend consumed.

She puts butter and oil in anything, no doubt a habit she inherited from that fry cook she used to live with. Miranda can only imagine the amount of grease he fed her.

When she goes on a lunch break at work, she buys a hot dog (or two) from a vendor while Miranda eats _Smith & Wollensky_'s best steak. And when Miranda suggests going out to a 5-star restaurant for dinner, Andrea shares a secretive look with the twins and asks if they would like pizza instead.

And so Miranda's house becomes a place where peanut butter and chocolate spread are permanent residents in the pantry, where the fridge always holds the fattest cheeses, where tacky take-outs are an agreeable alternative to dinner, and where (and this is the worst part) Miranda sometimes finds stray _M &M_s between her sheets.

It certainly earns Andrea more points with the girls, who now say things like, "But you let Andy eat that," or "Andy gave it to us," and are no longer afraid to barge into the house after a friend's birthday party and exclaim, "We ate _so much_  cake!"

And then Miranda becomes the bad cop who doesn't want her children giving themselves a heart attack before they're 30 while Andrea is the fairy godmother who swoops in and saves the day with burgers and fries. And who, at this rate, will definitely not live longer than Miranda.

  
**IV.**  
Miranda doesn't have a lot of friends. In her position, it's just not possible and not a priority. She's too busy to "hang out" and, besides Nigel, no one has ever really asked her (designers and photographers sucking up does not count).

There is also the plausibility that her lack of friends sprouts from her being the Dragon Lady, Snow Queen, Devil in Prada. She's never been particularly warm and inviting, not even as a child. Not someone who could share a couch with another person, drink wine, and gossip. No, those encounters always led to sex.

But she doesn't mind. At this point, she prefers it this way. Prefers to not let people in, not expose them to her flaws, not pretend to be interested in their stories. (With Andrea it's different--she actually cares about Andrea.)

Besides, in her line of work, friends = backstabbers. She should know--she is one.

So, she doesn't make deep, long-lasting connections. She sometimes goes out to lunch or drinks scotch with Nigel, and she fakes a smile when Donatella goes on and on and on about heaven knows what.

But she much prefers coming home at the end of the day to the only three people she actually cares about, and listen with genuine interest when they tell her about their day, and drink wine with Andrea while they confide things in each other they would never tell another soul.

Meanwhile, Andrea has friends to spare. She's a social butterfly, who surrounds herself with people. Everywhere she goes, she gets them to like her. At work, at her favorite bagel place, at the crosswalk, she manages to make connections.

She maintains childhood friendships and she goes out for drinks with co-workers. She even keeps in touch with Nigel.

And just like that, people Miranda doesn't know show up in her house--their house. She's forced to be introduced to people whose names she forgets after a second, forced to endure conversations she doesn't care about, and has to pretend to be nice, for Andrea.

She takes small comfort in the fact they all look scared shitless to meet her.

Then there's noise in her house--chatter and laughter--and strangers are using her dishes and furniture, and if she's lucky, she can escape to another room and pretend they're not there, but more often than not, Andrea wants her to be present and "hospitable," whatever that means.

Of course she takes no issue with Andrea having friends--she's happy for her. And of course Andrea can bring those friends by--it's her house now, too. But every time she sees how easily her girlfriend can form bonds, something inside her pinches and reminds her that she can't.

  
**V.**  
Miranda speaks Fashion. It's like another language to her, one she's more fluent in than English, French, and Italian combined. All her other lovely nicknames can be refutable, if one only looks at the bigger picture, but she's the indisputable Queen of Fashion.

No one--absolutely no one--can do what she does.

While most people in the industry view fashion as an art, to her it's a religion. She lives and breathes fashion, she worships the ground Christian Dior walked on and every fabric touched by Givenchy's miraculous hands, and she's the one that gets to determine what is a truly holy piece and what counts as blasphemy. The fashion world turns its eyes to her, the god that will tell those helpless souls what to wear.

But Mianda knows that fashion is worth nothing to a person if they don't also have a sense of style. Those two go hand in hand. All the haute couture in the world wouldn't save her if she didn't know what to do with it, but luckily, she's the Queen of Style, too. It sounds a little narcissistic, but it's true.

Give Miranda a _Gap_ T-shirt and baggy jeans and, with the right accessories and placements, she'll find a way to make it stylish and fashionable and probably end up inspiring the rest of the world for the next season.

That's why she's been ruling _Runway_ so successfully for decades and why she'll continue to do so for decades to come. Because no one views fashion and style as seriously as her.

Andrea, unfortunately, hasn't got a sense of either.

She's come a long way since her early assistant days, Miranda will give her that. She no longer wears atrocious skirts and shoes that should be sent for nuclear waste disposal. Nigel did a good job with her and she's learned her lesson, and these days Miranda can keep a close eye on her to assure she doesn't regress back to her old ways.

Well, almost.

See, the way Andrea sees fashion is as clothes. Beautiful clothes, yes, but just clothes. She's been trying to understand the history and stories behind them--Miranda will give her that, too--but at the end of the day it's still not as important to her as it is to Miranda.

She'd rather wear what she calls "normal clothes" to work and explains to Miranda that interviewees won't take seriously a cub reporter wearing designer outfits. Which Miranda understands, she does (to some extent). But then there's no reason for Andrea not to make her boring outfits more interesting.

She doesn't take risks, which are the foundation of Miranda's entire industry. When she does dress up, she wears "safe" outfits instead of trying to stand out. She piles labels onto labels, and that's on a good day. On a bad day, she looks like Coco Chanel herself threw up on her (she loooves her _Chanel_ ).

When she's feeling generous, she allows Miranda to dress her, but oftentimes gives her that "stay back" look when she tries to interfere.

And then there's the clothes she wears at home. Remnants of her college days, if not her teenage years. Worn-out shirts and pants with faded colors and tears in obvious places.

Miranda still finds her attractive--she always does and always will--but for god's sake. Miranda, too, allows herself to be comfortable in her own home, but that doesn't mean she has to let herself go entirely.

She tries to offer Andrea cashmere sweaters and wool pants, but Andrea refuses, insisting that she's comfortable and happy in her own despicable clothes.

And Miranda, well, Miranda supposes she has no choice but to let her be her.

  
**I.**  
Miranda closes the Book and places it, along with her glasses, on the nightstand to finish reviewing tomorrow morning.

She settles into the covers--where earlier she fished out a few of Andrea's notes and where she's sure she'll roll over in the middle of the night, right onto an M&M--and turns off her lamp.

A few minutes later, Andrea emerges from the bathroom, wearing her tank top and flannel pants pajamas--which she bought with her own money--(Miranda is wearing a silk nightgown) and crawls into the bed, instantly snuggling into Miranda's side.

An arm drapes across her stomach and a head drops on her chest, and when Miranda wraps her arm around the warm body and runs her hand up and down her arm, Andrea lifts her head with a smile and kisses Miranda.

Her breath smells of mint and beer (which Miranda will never be caught drinking)--thanks to her earlier adventures with her friends from work--but she also smells like the cherry blossom lotion Miranda gave her and uses herself.

And just like that Miranda lets go of all her annoyance and frustration because here's something she and Andrea do have in common:

"I love you," Andrea whispers sweetly and pecks her lips once more before resting her head back on Miranda's chest.

Miranda's fingers run through her soft hair and she can't help the tender smile that stretches across her features. "I love you, too."


End file.
